


It's a Joint Effort

by aftersoon (notboldly)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Het, Kink Meme, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post Avengers (Movie), Slash, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-25
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-23 16:16:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notboldly/pseuds/aftersoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony took Operation Get Bruce Laid very seriously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Joint Effort

It's a Joint Effort

Tony had spent his life doing things that were alternately questionable or brilliant, and upon joining the Avengers, this didn’t really change. Sometimes he thought it should have, like maybe being part of a team would be a good influence on him, or at least a stabilizing one. Although he’d been saving the world for years before it happened, sharing the glory and risk with other people seemed like it should have made the experience different. On the rare occasion when he actually bothered to talk about it with Pepper, she told him (not un-fondly) that he didn’t really learn the lessons from group work that most people did. He tolerated being part of a team, even enjoyed it on occasion, but did he ever admit it was better? Not really. It just wasn’t in his nature, and there was nothing wrong with that, so she said. Tony usually thought she was leaving something out, or being unfair.

He did understand teamwork. Really. Teamwork meant teaching Thor how to drive, or otherwise risking his life by asking if Natasha was having “lady problems.” Teamwork meant forgiving Coulson when he came back _un_ forgivably alive, and it meant tolerating Fury’s high-handed speeches on morality and king and country. Teamwork meant buying Maria Hill a knockout pantsuit when she was going to run into her ex-husband at some sort of benefit for crazed S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and it meant taking Steve on the world’s highest roller coaster and laughing when he screamed. It meant tolerating Hawkeye never answering to his first name, not even after Tony had caught him lurking in his pantry for God knows what reason. It meant striving to get Bruce laid when the man was so clearly a spilled test tube away from being a little less friendly and clashing with the décor. Especially that last one, actually.

And—whether or not he understood it—Tony took his role as part of the team very seriously.

********

The problem was that Tony usually interpreted “getting laid” to mean a fling, and by all appearances, Bruce wasn’t a fling kind of guy (excluding when he was green and flinging cars, of course.) Tony would have said there was something unnatural about that, but he’d had enough friends who fit the type—quiet, private, polite—that he knew some people just had different preferences.

This didn’t mean he changed his approach, however.

“So. There’s this club I’m thinking about buying—downtown, live music, financial trouble. Wanna check it out?”

Bruce looked up from his computer screen. The monitor cast a strange glow across his face, the artificial light making him look sickly, tired. He smiled apologetically.

“Sorry, Tony, but me and loud music don’t really combine well. Maybe you could take Steve?”

“Surrounded by modern music and half-naked bodies? Please. The man would have a heart attack.” Bruce didn’t respond, so Tony leaned heavily on the table, crowded in his space, peered over his shoulder. Tony was happy to see that Bruce didn’t stiffen. “It’s for your own good, really.”

“How’s that?”

“Because, Dr. Banner, you really need to get laid.”

Bruce, having worked with the Avengers and therefore Tony for a little under a year, took that in relative stride.

“Thanks, but I’ve never been one for…with strangers.”

Tony refrained from pointing out that was obvious to anyone with eyes, instead choosing to shrug, the motion brushing their shoulders together.

“Point stands. You’re about to explode, and not in a fun, sexy way. Well, it could be. In any case, you need a break.”

Bruce glanced back at the screen, the data entry of thousands of points, the cataloging of papers and research from when he was on the run and computers weren’t an option. Tony felt sympathetic, but didn’t offer his help or JARVIS like he normally would have. He had a goal, after all.

Bruce eventually gave in.

“Okay. Okay, maybe just for a few hours.”

********

“You didn’t say there’d be planes involved.”

“I never said there wouldn’t be.”

Bruce glanced away from the window and the gray clouds streaming past, a perfectly neutral and tolerant smile on his face. “ _Downtown_ , Tony?”

Tony was entirely unapologetic. “Downtown Malibu, to be exact. I have a house near Point Dume, and hey, if you’re going to take a night off, you may as well just take off.”

“You’re impossible.” It was said with fondness, because Bruce liked him, arrogance and all, despite everything. Because there was actual evidence of him hulking-out and _not_ killing Tony, that fear that he tended to carry around other people was at least somewhat in the past where Tony was concerned, and over time, their understanding had become a very natural friendship. These days, Tony considered him one of his best friends (usually, but the times when he didn’t were things he mostly ignored. Mostly.)

“Yeah, but you love me.” More importantly, Bruce humored him more than anyone else. “Besides, you’re flying on _my_ private jet—all the comforts of home in the air, and twice the speed of public flight. None of the hassle.”

Bruce continued to smile, but Tony noted that he still carefully closed the window blinds.

“I noticed. Frankly, I’m surprised you don’t have a pool or something.”

“Well…stripper flight attendants, but they’re on vacation right now. Excellent care package.”

Bruce laughed, the sound rusty but heartfelt. _This_ , Tony thought. This was what he wanted. He wanted Bruce to be happy and less serious, less scared. Just for a bit. He _wanted_ …Tony immediately turned back to his scotch, but was careful not to drink too much.

Someone had to fly this plane, after all.

********

Malibu was exactly how he remembered it, relatively dry and with temperatures pretty typical for April, varying throughout the low 70s. Tony would be honest and say he’d missed California, having been in New York for much longer than he’d initially planned upon the design of the Stark (now Avengers) Tower. It was the first time he’d really thought about his home in Malibu since he and Pepper had mutually decided she would murder him if they continued dating, and it surprised Tony to think that maybe this trip was just as much for his benefit as for Bruce’s. Not that he would admit that out loud; if given half a chance, Dr. Banner would focus on Tony’s peace of mind and health, and then where would they be?

Well, not at _La Spada Rossa_ , that much was certain. Tony hadn’t lied earlier; there was a club he was very much interested in buying, but it was apparent from the moment they walked through the door that someone had greatly overestimated how much it was struggling. Tony saw signs of under-maintenance here and there, but he also spotted freshly laid paint and new wood paneling at the bar, changes that were easy to spot even with the features nearly hidden by a large mass of excitedly gyrating bodies. The young owners had found an investor, clearly, and Tony was annoyed—whoever it was, there were already signs of the atmosphere he’d so liked disappearing. In a month, the furnishings would be changed. In two, the live music would be gone. In three, it would be just another club in a city with hundreds, and that was a shame. A damn shame.

And worst of all, Bruce didn’t seem comfortable. Tony felt like a failure, or at least he did until Bruce started chuckling.

“Well,” he started, gesturing at the packed dance floor and the dim lights. “This all seems…normal.”

“Awful, you mean.” Tony shook his head, found some amusement in the situation, and squared his shoulders. Since they were here…“Drink, Dr. Banner?”

“God yes.”

They all but fought their way to the bar, but once they’d reached it, Tony could admit the atmosphere was almost…nice. The drinks were overpriced, naturally, but Bruce actually took the offered glass, some sort of house specialty that looked and smelled suspiciously like a rum collins. Oh well—Tony wouldn’t make fun of his taste in booze just this once, he decided, and he was rewarded for the unusually generous decision with a soft clink of their glasses.

“Thanks for the drink. And for bringing me here.”

Tony snorted and sipped his own drink, a scotch that was thankfully not watered down. “This isn’t your scene at all. You even said that.”

“Yes, but thanks for the thought anyway.” Tony realized he wasn’t just being polite around the same time Bruce looked away, back to observing the dancing, removed from it all, the picture of a scientist out of his lab. It was almost funny, but mostly it was just relaxing. Tony raised his glass in a silent salute, about to say something probably foolish and possibly sappy, but then he spotted a familiar figure among the writhing, fast-paced crowd. No. It couldn’t be—too good to be true.

Tony downed the rest of his drink with a smile, his mind shifting back to his original plan with barely a blip of hesitation.

“Bruce?” He tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention, then gestured vaguely to the crowd. “I saw someone I know. Be right back. Here—buy another drink.” Tony dropped a twenty on the bar before he left, now convinced it would be the first of many. Operation Get Bruce Laid was back in effect, and really, that was all Tony wanted.

When he finally found her again, he noticed she was wrapped in some little blue dress that barely covered enough for legality’s sake, and he felt all the better about the entire thing.

“Miss Vanity Fair, if I’m not mistaken.”

She turned, and yes, that was definitely her; the sharply angled face was unmistakable, as were the legs. She’d also been talking to some guy who was not nearly as attractive as Tony and certainly not as attractive as Bruce, so he didn’t feel bad about interrupting them. Apparently, neither did she, because she smiled widely upon seeing him and the rejected man grudgingly moved away.

“Tony Stark!” She sounded pleased to see him but not overly so, and Tony was relieved; he didn’t usually have that effect on women. “I didn’t think I’d see you back in Malibu for a while, and certainly not talking to me. What’s the occasion?” Her comments were rapid-fire, her questions leading—still the reporter, even out of uniform. Tony donned his characteristic smirk, half expecting a photographer to leap from the shadows.

“Saving the world one repressed doctor at a time,” he replied blithely, then smiled further so she wouldn’t think to comment. “You?”

“I’m here with some friends.” The statement was accompanied with a wave over her shoulder and a wider, slightly more devious smile.

“Really.” Tony glanced in the direction of her wave. He found the group of gaping twenty-somethings easily, and not a one of them had the presence of mind to snap a picture with their phone. No wonder she was so amused. “In that case, come with me.”

She looked like he’d just offered her the key code to one of his spare suits.

“It’s not like you to offer a private interview.”

“Did I say interview? I meant alcohol, possibly conversation.” Probably sex, but Tony figured that might be unlikely if he pointed it out. “Mostly I just want you to meet a friend of mine. See the man in the red shirt and dark jacket at the bar?” Tony turned and saw Bruce exactly as he’d left him, hiding in plain sight and nursing a drink, already on his second by the looks of it. She followed his gaze.

“Yes. Nice shirt.” She glanced at Tony, expression speculative. “Looks similar to some of the things you have.”

That would be because Tony had bought it for him, courtesy of the team-wide “get Bruce clothes that actually fit” operation. Normally he would have taken the credit, but with the direction he wanted the conversation to go in, it would be…strange. Discomfiting.

“His name is Dr. Bruce Banner. He’s a good friend of mine, and as you can see by how he’s avoiding looking at anyone and everyone, he’s not having the best time right now.”

She looked contemplative for a moment, and then her eyes narrowed.

“Did you say Banner? Is he a physicist, a chemist, something like that?”

“Yes,” Tony answered, but slowly. There were only a few ways that the physicist Dr. Banner would be familiar to a nosy journalist from Brown…but then she smiled, the expression blindingly bright and more than Tony had ever gotten.

“I’d love to meet him.” She adjusted the top of her dress, explaining all the while. “Required science class at Brown, intro to chemistry. My prof wouldn’t stop raving about him. She never said he was cute, though.”

Tony couldn’t help but smile at that, sticking out his arm like a gentleman. If she was thrilled to meet Bruce, he was perfectly prepared to be sickeningly nice to her all evening (minus his usual flirtation, that is.)

“Shall we?”

Grinning, she took his arm, and together they moved through the crowd.

********

Aside from the one awkward moment where Tony realized he’d forgotten her name (“Christine Everhart,” as she said with some amusement because he’s almost called her Karen this time) the three of them seemed to get along famously. Tony was certain this was mostly because Bruce got along with everyone and Christine had some sort of devious journalist goal, but he was also sure that his constant interjections about how _awesome_ Bruce was and how Christine was a good, old friend of Tony’s (and therefore not a stranger) helped as well. It was probably a bit alarming—after all, it wasn’t like Tony regularly praised people other than himself—but it was also terribly effective. With every passing moment and every additional drink, Christine edged further away from Tony and closer to Bruce…and Bruce just didn’t move, which was still better than him running away. Tony felt a bit like an overindulgent babysitter and Bruce’s occasional glances in his direction weren’t helping, but despite the fact that no one was approaching him, Tony couldn’t quite bring himself to abandon them to their own devices. Couldn’t quite, because Bruce would probably bolt or make excuses or be awkwardly sweet about the whole thing, and Tony couldn’t have that.

By the time Christine leaned forward and proposed that they all ‘take this party elsewhere’ (but said with a clear focus on Bruce), Tony found himself without a date of his own and no intention of getting one. It was interesting feeling, and he wondered if maybe he was getting old before deciding it didn’t matter much. This was about Bruce; Tony would just edge quietly out of the way, get a separate car home, work on something amazing and ingenious as always. Or at least, that was the plan.

Except all signs pointed to Bruce turning her down. Even now he was looking vaguely apologetic, smiling that neutral default smile, backing up like he was scared and Christine—for all her ambition—was hardly terrifying. Naturally, Tony’s plan to step back and remove himself was abruptly aborted.

“Sure, Christine. Stark Manor sound alright?” Tony casually replied, cutting off Bruce just as he opened his mouth. Tony was probably being hasty, but he recognized the signs—Bruce found her attractive, she liked him, it was only…other things in the way.

Christine beamed at him, touched Bruce on the arm, and swallowed the last of her drink quickly enough that Bruce didn’t have time to object.

“Of course! Give me just a moment to run to the ladies’ room, and I’ll be right back.”

As soon as she was out of sight, Bruce grabbed his arm, looking his peculiar mixture of calm and anxious, the expression he always got when he thought his green other half might be making an appearance.

“Tony. This isn’t going to work. I can’t—the Other Guy—”

Fear, plain and simple, and need. Tony was good with both.

“We’re going to my house, which I have _personally_ proven can withstand an army and has five versions of the Iron Man suit in the basement. Also, I don’t really sleep, so no big surprises. You go green, I’ll handle it.” Tony patted his arm comfortingly, and he was surprised when it actually seemed to work, humbled that Bruce seemed to trust him that much.

And because he couldn’t resist, Tony reached into his pants pocket and removed a handful of foil-wrapped squares. He tucked the condoms into Bruce’s jacket pocket, smirking all the while.

“Also, like I said, she’s a _friend_. Don’t forget to wrap up, Big Guy.”

The answering flush on Bruce’s face lingered long after Christine returned, and it amused Tony enough that he almost didn’t mind that he was spending the night alone and on Hulk-watch. Almost.

********

Tony arranged for a private car, both because he’d experienced the whole taxi thing before (he wouldn’t recommend it) and because it took all of ten seconds after Christine arrived to see that she was flushed with excitement. Tony recognized that look; that look meant “we’re not making it back without making out in back.” She’d given it to him once, after all, and Tony was amused and flooded with fond memories at the same time. Fun times, that. Excellent times.

He climbed into the backseat and they followed, Bruce squashed against the opposite door and Christine pressed between the two of them, murmuring something in Bruce’s ear that sounded just husky enough to be a suggestion as the car sped away from the curb. Tony reflexively raised the privacy glass between the driver and the back seat; probably he should have sat in the front, but what the hell, it was his car.

Also, call him interested. Call it scientific curiosity. Call it a chemical mixture…he just wondered about the result, and so he watched them from the corner of his eye. He expected the usual fumbling, the half-disguised fondling of an over-eager couple. He was waiting for it, because at the first sign, he was prepared to tell them it was a private car and he’d seen it all anyway.

What he saw instead was Bruce combing gentle fingers through her hair, seemingly unbothered by the hindrance of hair products, and then kissing her slowly and deeply and with need, touching her nowhere else. Christine returned the favor, something Tony found surprising given her enthusiasm during her night with him not that long ago, and they scarcely moved, not rubbing, not grinding, barely making sounds beyond the softest gasps. It looked _delicious_ , and Tony suddenly couldn’t stop staring, subtlety be damned.

An idea—questionable and brilliant both—naturally followed. And Tony waited, waited until they separated, until Christine sighed in an overdrawn and dreamy fashion. A bit of acting that would have normally been difficult to believe was cemented by the fact that she didn’t pull away completely, one arm still around Bruce’s neck, the other resting lightly in the center of his chest.

“Oh _Tony_ , I like your friend.”

Bruce didn’t say anything to that though he kissed her cheek. Christine turned into it, happily guiding his lips to her neck, and Tony thought, _now or never_. Slowly, he reached across the back of the seat to rest a hand on her shoulder, fingers smoothing over the bared skin there. Unobtrusive, if she wanted it that way. Easy to ignore, depending on the signs.

She responded by placing one hand on his thigh without so much as turning; the response was clear, at least on her end. Now came the challenge, or what Tony assumed was the challenge. He’d participated in group sex before—the _Maxim_ Christmas twins were an especially fond memory—but never with a man. Certainly not someone like Bruce. In the realm of challenges, convincing Bruce Banner to have a threesome with Tony Stark fell somewhere between building an arc reactor in a cave (relatively easy) and convincing Rhodey that they should take his newly-assigned F-22 Raptor for a joyride (impossible). Tony wasn’t exactly sure where it fell, but he had every intention of finding out at the first opportunity. Until then, he enjoyed the show.

By the time they reached Stark Manor, the volume had been amped up to 11 and the action had gone from PG to R. Tony would have thought they forgot about him—Bruce certainly seemed to—but Christine kept her hand on his knee the entire time, holding him in place. They barely stumbled out of the car and into the entryway, Tony following quite happily and telling JARVIS not to make any snide comments as he did so. On the plush carpet, they parted from their kiss and Christine hit her knees, condom in hand. Tony saw his chance.

Bruce’s face was relaxed and his eyes were closed, but they snapped open when Tony leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his nape, under the black curls that were just this side of too messy.

“Tony?” His voice was uncertain, and his eyes focused on Tony, only Tony, even as Christine fumbled with his belt.

“I’m not a stranger,” Tony murmured, and Bruce’s gaze noticeably softened.

“That’s true.”

“And, you know. Teamwork.”

“I don’t remember this in the training modules.”

“You need to take better notes.”

Bruce grinned and then gasped, the reaction to a bobbing blond head, and Tony kissed his neck again before moving away. The action was difficult for reasons he didn’t want to analyze, so it was good that he was distracted by the slope of Christine’s back and the curve of her calves. He crouched beside her, stroking her thick hair as he did so. The dress had a zipper underneath the rippled top, and he eased it down, running fingers across her spine as he went, encountering the elastic of black underwear an inch before the zipper ended. He traced the exposed moles on her shoulder that formed an isosceles triangle; strangely enough, he remembered those.

Her hands were still pressed to Bruce’s thighs, but she pulled back as soon as Tony cupped her breasts through the loosened cloth.

“This would work a _lot_ better if we were all naked,” she offered, voice cheerful, trying for seductive and mostly failing although Tony agreed with her anyway. They were still in the entryway, and for the sorts of things Tony had planned, they really needed a bed. A big bed.

“Right.” Tony stood abruptly and kicked off his boots, his belt quickly following. “Master bedroom, three doors down to the right.”

Christine pushed to her feet and smiled. “I remember.” She slipped out of her dress, leaving her naked except for her underwear, and then she shimmied out of those. Once she removed the condoms still tucked in Bruce’s jacket, she smiled at them both before taking off down the hallway. Naked sprinting: Tony decided it clearly needed to be a sport.

Bruce couldn’t seem to decide if he was in a state of shock, though, standing as he was with his pants pulled down, his shirt untucked and missing a few buttons, hair mussed. So Tony helped.

“Welcome to California.” Bruce looked at him blankly and Tony shrugged, happily pulling off his t-shirt as he did so. The glow of the arc reactor flooded the room, and Bruce stared at it, making Tony feel a bit cold. He knew how it looked, the scar tissue, the protruding veins from previous palladium poisoning. It wasn’t pretty. “It’s gross, I know. Just don’t look at it.” Tony was sure he sounded self-conscious, but Bruce just shook his head.

“No, it’s fine.” Bruce actually seemed interested as he reached out and tapped it with one finger, a soft beat that Tony nonetheless felt in the pit of his stomach. “A glorious piece of engineering.”

It was stupid how much the statement improved his mood. Stupid and amazing. Still, reasons aside, it made it all the easier for him to drop his pants and briefs with a smile. Bruce’s eyes widened, and Tony laughed. Welcome to California indeed.

“Well? Naked sprinting time!”

He hurried to the master bedroom, sure that Christine was wondering what was keeping them. It was funny, really; Tony had almost forgotten she was there.

********

Tony’s general opinion on threesomes were that they were complicated to plan, but well worth the effort once the social niceties of who was touching whom were out of the way. Had Tony been forced to come up with a hypothesis for this specific situation, he would have thought that Christine would be in the center and he and Bruce would avoid each other as much as possible. As a practice, it wasn’t a particularly fair arrangement…and really, there were variables that he hadn’t considered. Or maybe variables that he’d simply ignored.

He didn’t mind touching Bruce, and it was readily apparent. Too apparent, really, for Tony’s sake.

It started out well enough. This was clearly not Christine’s first rodeo, and upon the arrival of all parties to the bedroom, she opened a fresh condom and eagerly reached for Bruce, manhandling him into sitting as she did so. Tony found that probably too exciting, and it only got worse when she climbed onto Bruce’s lap and ran her fingers through greying chest hair. They contrasted well, a young blond woman and an older dark-haired man, and Tony felt out of place. Briefly. And then he remembered that he was Tony Stark, and there was no sexual activity beyond him, certainly not something so tame.

He climbed to his knees behind Christine, aligned his stomach to the curve of her back, and he mentally rejoiced when she barely flinched at the press of cold metal to her shoulder blades. Pressing against smooth, squirming skin was the first step of many, however, and Tony grabbed her hips, rocked her away from him and onto Bruce with a gentle motion. She moaned—she was very vocal, he remembered that part—and Bruce sighed, running hands along her sides as he did so. His hands touched Tony’s, but neither of them moved, or minded.

Tony was curious, so he lifted her hips again, pushed forward harder this time. He wanted to know if Bruce would be louder, but any sound he made was drowned out by Christine’s moan and Tony’s own heavy breathing, and future sounds were muffled by the burrowing of his dark head against her breasts, the sucking of his mouth. Shame, that: Christine rolled back into Tony then, and suddenly he forgot the goal. Forgot there was a goal, with firm flesh sliding against his bare skin and his fingers touching rough, hairy, familiar hands. The three of them undulated together, each fulfilling their own needs…except Tony noticed that Christine was missing something, missing something important. Her hands were on Bruce’s shoulders, stroking but gently; that wasn’t what he needed, obviously. Clearly.

Tony released Christine’s hips, slid his hands along Bruce’s ribs to his middle back, and dug his fingers _in_ , because that was what Bruce must have wanted, needed. Bruce jerked, his rhythm thrown off, but that was a definite moan Tony heard, a definitely masculine one at that. Tony repeated the action—sample size, sample size was key in experiments—and he received the same result.

He had never been so turned on _in his life_ , and that was probably apparent to poor Christine. It would have been polite to wear a condom rather than drip and slide all along her backside, but one look at her face showed her eyes closed, her mouth opened in bliss. Tony supposed she didn’t mind, so he rocked. Flexed his fingers. Left his mouth at the curve of her neck and licked at the sweat there. Closed his eyes.

He felt Christine come first, a powerful shudder that excited them all. She came again before Bruce did, because anti-hulk measures were weirdly tantric and all he needed was practice to turn them towards sex (or so Tony had decided). For Tony’s part, experience meant that it was only after the muscles under his hands had gone lax and his imagination had gone somewhere it was not supposed to go—strong back, dark hair that greyed slightly, rusty laugh and quiet moans—that he followed them both, the three of them collapsing in a sticky, giddy heap for minutes afterwards. Messy, but satisfying. Enjoyable…but problematic.

Tony doubted anyone had heard him moaning Bruce’s name when he came, but he knew it had happened, felt it on his tongue and heard it so clearly. He knew.

********

Between the three of them, there was enough stamina to keep their activities going for hours, even if Tony’s recovery period had gotten slightly longer over the years. He wasn’t selfish although his motives weren’t exactly pure, and he was more than happy to lick and suck Christine into oblivion while being very aware that she was returning the favor on Bruce. Even the remaining aftertaste of latex inside her and across her thighs couldn’t spoil that image, and Tony found himself ready to go again for all the wrong reasons. The last condom was his, but although he slid inside her already slickened body and she rode him with vicious nails scratching along his neck and hands tapping metal without fear, it wasn’t as thrilling as it would have been once upon a time. Still wonderful, and he did watch what he was moaning this time…but not amazing. The result was problematic, like he’d said.

The whole experience made him glad he didn’t really sleep much, even though if he was ever to pick a time, wrapped around two warm bodies—one of which was Bruce, his very favorite person, and Tony didn’t imagine that would happen again—would have been the time. Instead, he decided to untangle himself from sweaty sheets and whichever one of them was the octopus in the dark, and invent something. Anything.

Daylight found him with a screen covered with abstract equations with no purpose and a house as quiet as the grave, as he dared not even speak with JARVIS lest he wake them up. Morning afters: at this point, he wasn’t sure which of the two he wanted to see less, and while he could have hid in his workshop, that seemed wrong suddenly. Unfair, and maybe a little bit ungrateful.

When Christine wandered out, she was wearing Bruce’s red shirt (he had neglected to do the naked sprint, for some reason) and Tony thought, _her_. He was definitely less excited to see her.

Stupid as it seemed and despite the absolute fun of being one big, happy, orgasming knot, Tony almost resented her for being the barrier between him and Bruce. Because Tony was a self-deluding coward and Bruce was probably just not interested like that, there was no other way it could have happened…logically, he knew that. Since she also smiled at him and didn’t give him a dreamy-eyed look, though, Tony couldn’t be too annoyed. He was even willing to give her breakfast before she went on her way, provided it was cereal (he didn’t think him cooking would end well.)

It was over Cheerios and milk that she started talking, polite morning-after-sex conversation. He really wished she wouldn’t.

“Well, that was…fun. Certainly not how I’d expected to spend a Tuesday night, and it wasn’t even my birthday.” She chewed a mouthful of Cheerios thoughtfully, smiled at him more even though he gave every appearance of being busy. “Didn’t you sleep? I’m exhausted. I’d think you’d be tired.”

Tony shrugged and sipped his coffee. “Not really—three hours or less. Pretty standard.”

“Wow. Talk about stamina.” There was no innuendo in her voice, although there probably should have been. She ate another bite. “So…‘Bruce,’ huh?” She’d heard him. Fuck.

Since Tony could never have enough denial, he just nodded. “Nice guy, isn’t he?”

“Too nice, probably, for you or me.” She looked at him long and hard. “Didn’t think you were gay. Are you?”

Now that, that was annoying. Not offensive (although, admittedly, he might not have thought that yesterday morning) but he liked to think someone at least semi-intelligent would see that it was an inaccurate term, given all the evidence.

“Who’s asking?”

She held up her hands in defense. “A completely disinterested party who doesn’t write for Vanity Fair these days.” At Tony’s surprised look, she went back to her Cheerios. “Moved to USA Today, not that it matters much. I think I could write about something more interesting than your sex life either way.”

“Probably. And no. Just him, or at least recently.” If Tony looked close enough, examined his past much, he could see the stream of what might have been feelings for other men in the past. If he bothered, but he thought it would be best if he didn’t.

“Well, I wish you two all the best then. The media won’t hear a word of it from me.”

Tony thanked her but didn’t correct the assumption she was clearly making, the assumption that they were a couple wanting to spice up their sex life. He supposed it was just his first instinct kicking in: ignore all comments on relationships, especially those made by reporters.

Once Christine left, though, he wondered if maybe it wasn’t his _second_ instinct coming into play: whatever he wanted, he got, so no need to worry about the soon-to-change details. Hmmm. Interesting. After all, Bruce hadn’t exactly minded Tony last night, and he _was_ Tony Stark. What was the worst that could happen? Tony decided to find out, but because he didn’t exactly want to see their friendship go up in flames or to see a surprise appearance of his favorite green giant, he was careful about it. By which he meant he went into the bedroom, took one look at a Bruce who was tangled in the sheets and blissfully asleep and sprawled across as much of the bed as he could reach, and then slapped him hard on the ass.

Bruce woke with a snort, spotted Tony, and laughed weakly before burying his head in the nearest pillow.

“Tony, _please_. We only got to sleep, what, four hours ago?”

“Pretty close. Still, Christine’s already gone. Think she stole your shirt, too.”

That made Bruce sit up a little, looking groggy and relatively blissed out and probably all too comfy for Tony’s peace of mind.

“She left?” At Tony’s nod, he sighed almost sadly, and Tony had a moment of panic, wondering if the whole thing had been about what Christine wanted after all. The feeling passed quickly, mostly because Bruce smiled at him and flopped back down. “Huh. Wanted to say ‘thank you,’ at the very least.”

“You could say it to me.” There was a moment of silence, and Tony covered immediately. “Considering I’m awesome.”

“I will, if you come back to bed.” More silence, then Bruce rolled his eyes. “To sleep.”

Ah, right. Still, Bruce patted the small area of mattress next to him and Tony had the thought that it looked _nice_ , and when had Bruce become okay with all of this?

“I have other beds, you know. Dozens. Maybe hundreds—I don’t think I’ve ever added them up.”

“Tony. I’m a relationship sort of guy. Always have been.” Tony was still processing that, not quite able to believe his luck, and then Bruce shifted to the other side of the bed. “Get in the damn bed.”

Tony did, and Bruce immediately flopped on him. He was one of those touch-starved people in the morning, Tony supposed, and there were comments that needed to be made, teasing about the Hulk being a cuddle monster. At the moment though…it was exactly what he needed, and so he closed his eyes. Bruce snored like a bear and it was hardly restful, but oh well.

It was a start.

********

End

**Author's Note:**

> Fulfills a kink meme prompt, located here: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/5102.html?thread=5251310#t5251310


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